


Worship of a violent order

by Mallory_Clayborne



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Character Study, F/M, Larrikin has defensive/healing magic, Masochism, Spoilers as to how Abyssinia became a heart, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex, but I mean if you don’t know that then read the damn books, have fun y’all, ish, oh yeah Hopeless is a shapeshifter, the actual explicitly described sex is Vile and Abyssinia, there’s a little bit about the big Lord Vile Secret(tm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 19:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18394484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallory_Clayborne/pseuds/Mallory_Clayborne
Summary: Nefarian Serpine, with his elegant habits and attraction to pain; Baron Vengeous, with his religious fanaticism and devotion to order; Lord Vile, with his command of the darkness and devotion to himself. Mevolent could not fail.A character study that went far off the rails of Mevolent’s Three Generals.





	Worship of a violent order

**Author's Note:**

> Notes at the beginning today y’all. There’s a sprinkling of violence and sex and violent sex in the Lord Vile section, so be aware. Otherwise everything is canon-typical. I’m hot for the Baron. Not beta’d, feel free to tell me if I can’t spell.

Screaming withered into curling, silent agony as it always did; relent was infrequent but unwelcome, as it carried a choice of betrayal or self-sacrifice. Nefarian Serpine had long since stopped smiling - an Exigency was less than a short job, although the pain was no less exquisite. A pathetic specimen, he reflected, as a truth he’d been expecting anyway tumbled from a throat bloodied and raw from screeching, and why Thurid ever bothered with this one Nefarian could not comprehend, a heathen, and a weak one at that. With a roll of sparkling emerald, his gaze dragged around the room and settled back on the captive, fear tangible in the air but deadened as Nefarian raised his hand a final time and he was left alone. 

Later on, after an exquisite dinner, he sipped wine rich as midnight with the grace of a thousand stars whilst in discerning conversation with the proxy Master and his Queen, who he would worship in stead of the Gods they promised would return. Charm emanated from him and affected both Serafina and Mevolent himself, crushed black velvet hiding yet accentuating his weapon as it embraced the stem of his crystal glass. Leaning back in his chair with a rich laugh at a tale told by the lady, the business talk having been done with long before this second bottle; tonight was a night of little external action, covered by the Diablerie anyway; the enemy forces pushed back for now, it was of no great concern to Nefarian at any rate. Back to his chambers, content and buzzed, his elegance shining through despite a slight bounce to belie the moderate intoxication, stone clicking and torchlight flickering.

That night, a girl laid on red silk and begged first for her Gods, and then for Nefarian himself as he moved better than she could have ever imagined; he knew not her name, but her faith, and that was more distinguishing; she had never had the glory of someone like Serpine before, never someone that was so well-practiced with the best of examples; sweat glittered across her chest under lamplight as she gripped the sheets and screamed his name, and he leaned down to steal the breath from her lungs, pressing his body against hers and he felt her chest heave with exertion, reminding himself of the softness of her breasts and indulging himself enough to take one in hand and listen as she whimpered underneath the man she was currently worshipping in situ of the gods. Now it was only about him and he took what he wanted, what he deserved and what she wanted him to have, and bliss crashed over him as warmth filled the girl and she made a noise obscured by Nefarian’s blood rush, and he perhaps said something too, not that it mattered. Pulling away from her and pushing her away from him, a temporary pleasure but one well-received; he paid her no more attention, instead beckoning a servant closer, who’d potentially been there for hours or potentially for minutes, and stepping over with a meekly bowed head to dress Nefarian, who prayed more fervently than he slept. 

 

Not a second wasted as the Elemental ruptured, and the other Sanctuary mage next to him dropped to his knees with the beginning of a beg leaving his throat before the same fate befell him. A rush of beautiful laughter from the woman at his side and he surveyed the battlefield from the edge of the mud, cold gaze roaming over the destruction. Ordering some men to collect the corpses of the faithful, the devoted, he turned and offered a hand to the woman’s free one, and then they were in the fortress together, and alone once the Teleporter stepped back and vanished. Baron Vengeous and China Sorrows walked through darkened halls and spoke of the heathens who had fallen before them. Marginally before schedule, he paused outside the Chamber, a hand raised to China’s neck, a silent instruction to wait, and after a second pushed open the door that was twice his height, striding forth and kneeling before the thrones, the Mistress of the Diablerie at his side and prostrated equally, and Mevolent listened to their prayers of thankfulness for such a success, blessing the both of them. The Baron stood and China followed suit, approaching Mevolent who took his General’s hand and shook it, keeping his grasp as the two exchanged the occurrences of the day with the pleasantries afforded by men of their status, religious fanaticism - or perhaps justifiable devotion - easily readable in the Baron’s words, and when they let go, Vengeous bowed, leaving the Chamber with China at his side.

In the Great Chapel, the Baron was well-received and better-prepared, taking his place close to the altar and noticing a drop of blood on one of his buttons, rubbing it clean before he dared give himself to his gods. Kneeling and still having a greater presence than everyone else in the room, fooling some into the idea that they should be worshipping him; another kind of heathenry, rife within those they fought and he tasked himself personally with eliminating it amongst his own ranks; but in here there was no place for anything other than utter devotion to the Faceless Ones, which was how, in his vision, the world should be. Prayers were long and some entered fevers, but the Baron’s mind was not so weak as to be distracted from his outpouring of gratefulness and expression of love. He was aware of the other presences in the room, few of consequence - so long as they were worshipping, everything was in balance - although he could sense China, Jaron, others who must have returned from the battlefield, and their loyal energy coursed through the church, lifting them beyond this pathetic world of mortals and heathens and allowing them a small moment of unity with the gods.

An inspection of ranks was a staple for most of his evenings: after all, the enemy could never catch them in disarray, for they were the Chosen Army fighting this Holy War, so pleasing their gods was an incredible incentive. Sorcerers fought to not drop their heads at his presence during inspection like they otherwise would, meeting his eyes if he insisted on the eye contact, his broad body casting shadows both real from the lamplight and metaphorical from his reputation over the weaker bodies of the standing army. Line after line of soldiers and he knew in his heart, almost breaking, that very few of them understood the true meaning of why they stood here. He didn’t doubt many of them followed, but some were just here for the point of petty Sancturial dissident or a paraphilia for violence or blood or death or something similar, and the ones who purportedly believed were weak-minded and blind to the true image. A question was asked of him and the success of the day as he walked past and he answered without a backwards glance, a slight noise of raucous jeering from the surrounding soldiers when he confirmed what they expected, and he allowed the hint of a smirk to grace his lips before raising a hand to silence them. They silenced. With the door swinging open and Mevolent entering the room, the obedient dropped their gaze and Vengeous presented his impeccable order.

 

The throes of battle were no stranger to him, and he not to them; rising atop a swathe of darkness to observe the many dead ordinary sorcerers, but someone knew he was going to be there and had instructed their friend to have an energy stream waiting, but more darkness absorbed the energy and spat it back out as pulsing shadows, sending the Energy Thrower and his knowledgeable friend crashing backwards. Walking twenty metres up on a bridge of breathing blackness, Lord Vile felt the swell of the air next to him before it hit him and twisted through it, staggering only slightly despite the immense power of the two Elementals that had pushed him and immediately lashing back out with razor-sharp darkness that drew blood and screams. Shots were fired at him by someone moving fast and changing faster, and if Vile was any normal Necromancer his shadows would have struggled to absorb all the bullets but as it was, the small pieces of lead were given evil and returned, some catching the Shapeshifter and making him collapse with a moan. Vile reached out with his mind and everything grew colder, and just as the pull of death was beginning to take life from his attackers, a screeching mass of blackness so different to his own clawed at him from behind, and he had to admit, it hurt, but upon turning to sever the Gist from its master and kill them both, a golden light flooded his vision, emanating from, as far as he was concerned, no more than a boy. And the golden light bound his darkness for a second that may as well have been an hour, and Vile raged against it, but by the time he broke free he was being hit by uninjured energy and fire and air and bullets and a god-forsaken Gist, every move he made preempted, and it wasn’t worth the effort to try and kill the boy now passed out on the ground, so with a roar unlike a sound any being, living or dead, had heard before, darkness swept around like a tornado and Vile disappeared.

Blackness coalesced in the chamber and Lord Vile stepped out of his shadow walk into his temporary master’s presence, and Abyssinia clapped in delight at the darkshow, and Serafina smiled at her friend, and Mevolent greeted his general and inquired as to the newly created dead. Vile spat a response with the distaste of the Dead Men seeming to chill the room, and though Mevolent congratulated a job well done for the dozens of easily-slain enemies, Vile was no more placated and left the room in another thunder of shadows, heels clicking delightedly as Abyssinia ran the length of the chamber and pulled open the door, the incorrigible darkness coalescing in the corridor and widening to envelop her, and she gasped as her life was dragged to the edges of her being and the space was filled with euphoria. Vile was enraged, and she was excited, so she reached out to him and grasped him in hand, howling in pain as shadows sliced along her flesh but she hung on tightly, healing herself in an instant and laughing as Vile shuddered in her grip from the beginnings of anger-heightened pleasure. Struggles along the corridor turned into struggles in Abyssinia’s chambers, and darkness thrashed around the room as she touched him and he touched her and blood began to spill and slicken her thighs as sharp shadows forced themselves into her. She screamed in giddy pleasure and she dragged him closer, the shadows growing blunt and thick and filling both of her holes, making her moan, which he cut off with a kiss that was more like spitting ice into her open mouth. Abyssinia threw her hips up over and over as he pushed forward, making her magic crackle around Lord Vile who hissed his pleasure. Now it was no longer blood slickening her and the noise was obscene, her screaming, him roaring, and the mess that was made as climax hit Abyssinia and what seemed like a waterfall flowed from her and over Vile and onto the bed. He kept moving as she went boneless, giggling breathlessly as Vile used her, whimpering at his roughness until a few minutes later his form stilled but the shadows went insane, a beautiful sight if she’d ever seen one. They spent the night together, in his silence and her talkativeness, and more delicious harm took them both along with the mood.

And, now, it was Serafina smiling in delight at the dinner theatre she was presented with; Abyssinia slumped forwards with a knife in her back and shadows under her skin, a cool blackness under the rich warm brown. Mevolent had paused, and looked at his General, who had bowed very shallowly in response before disappearing in a rage of shadows, taking the corpse with him. Alone in a stone-clad room, Vile focused harder than he had in a while and a black flame began to burn, weakly at first, but he cultivated it, fed it in the ways of a seasoned Elemental, and it grew into a flickering mass that he pushed away from himself and engulfed the Queen of the Darklands, catching onto her clothes and then her skin. He turned, something coming close to sadness infecting him as Abyssinia was destroyed, and then a burst of anger as he turned back and, riding atop his shadows like it owned them, a beating heart, engraved with sigils and a bright ruby red. He forced the darkness to coalesce and crush the heart, but there was resistance, and Vile stopped when he sensed the harm this could cause him. Furious, he gestured around him and his shadows dissipated along with the heart, returning to him in a flurry when the heart was locked where he wanted, and he was swept up in the tirade and appeared behind Mevolent, who barely seemed to have noticed his General’s absence at all. The night passed peacefully, with no discussion of the empty chair, conclusions already having been made; a messenger from Mantis brought news of defeated enemies and demoralised Dead Men, still down a skeleton most foul. Serpine laughed, the Baron smirked, Mevolent toasted the success of his army, and Lord Vile stood, swathed in anger and blackness.


End file.
